Death At A Funeral
Completely charmless, it tries and fails on every single level of comedy you can imagine.
Not going to lie - I'm not one of those people who goes out of their way to see terrible films. I always like to give movies the benefit of the doubt, so my duds so far this year have been the Nightmare On Elm Street remake (it could've been an interesting interpretation) and Legion (which I secretly enjoy for being so awful). But I'm not going to sit through the likes of She's Out Of My League and The Back-Up Plan. No.
However, I was intrigued by Death At A Funeral, because of my soft spot for Neil LaBute. Yes, the daft bugger ruined all memories of the astonishing In The Company Of Men and Nurse Betty with tripe like that Wicker Man remake, but it looked like he could return to his acerbic roots with this black comedy. Not a chance, for this has to be one of the worst films of the year.
A remake of Frank Oz's little-known all-British 2007 film, writer Dean Craig returns to set the scene in the US. Do not worry yourself with the threadbare plot (family funeral turns to farce when dead father's secret gay lover turns up to blackmail the sons), just concern yourself with the worrying notion that a film starring Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence and Tracy Morgan can't raise a single laugh (well, it did in my screening, but it was for Johnny Vaughan snoring at the back of the room).
In fact, all the cast look utterly depressed to be delivering such contrived lines of dialogue and involving themselves in (literally) toilet humour, and it's crushingly embarrassing. There isn't a single spark between this ensemble of great actors in their own right - Luke Wilson, Columbus Short, Danny Glover, Regina Hall - and they bumble, as dead-eyed and bored as their audience, through one desperate circumstance to the next. Horrendously offensive, it carries its homophobia as a badge of pride, leaving a dreadful aftertaste. If it had been entirely politically incorrect with glee, I could've gone along for the morbid ride. But the only disgust this family feel in a house full of gross-out moments is for any man-on-man contact, be it innocent or otherwise.
The only spark of joy to be had during this vile, miserable excuse of a film is thanks to Zoe Saldana and James Marsden. Saldana's staggering beauty and screen presence lifts the soul (yeah, that's shallow, but I was grabbing for something to enjoy), and Marsden is a riot as the boyfriend who accidentally ingests hallucinogenics, being the only person who looks happy to be there... naked on a roof. Completely charmless, it tries and fails on every single level of comedy you can imagine - screwball, deapan, dark humour, situational. Avoid at all costs.
Subscribe to the SG News Feed
